Heartstones (25 page)

Honey seemed to be content with Phoebe’s toenails and spent a long time delicately decorating them with little daisies to match the daisies on Phoebe’s dress. Theo disappeared to wash up and returned with three steaming mugs of hot chocolate and a packet of Kimberly biscuits.

‘Rumour has it they’re your favourites.’ He smiled at her as he opened the cellophane wrapping.

‘They’re my favourites too.’ Honey’s face was painted with a chocolaty grin. She snuggled sleepily into Phoebe’s side. ‘I’ve had a lovely day,’ she sighed.

‘I think it’s time for bed now,’ said Theo gently. ‘Go and put your pyjamas on and then I’ll come in and read to you. What’s it to be tonight?
Pippi Longstocking
or
The Water Horse
?’

‘No.’ Honey sprang up, suddenly wide awake again. ‘I can’t go to bed; I haven’t straightened Phoebe’s hair yet.’ She picked up the straighteners and rushed to the wall to plug them in.

‘I’m sure Phoebe doesn’t want all her curls made straight,’ protested Theo.

‘It’s all right,’ said Phoebe. ‘She can do it if she wants to; I’ve never had my hair straightened. It might be fun to have a new hairstyle, if you don’t mind her going to bed a bit late.’

‘You’re a glutton for punishment,’ laughed Theo. ‘But as long as I don’t have to have it done to me again you can keep Honey up as long as you like.’ He gathered up the empty cocoa mugs and disappeared back down to the kitchen.

Phoebe sat obediently on a stool while Honey, tongue protruding through the gap in her teeth in concentration, pulled the straighteners through her hair section by section. Every now and then Phoebe touched a straightened strand; there was no mirror so all she could do was marvel at the smooth silkiness and hope she didn’t look too ridiculous.

Honey stood back to admire her finished work and let out a small gasp, ‘You look like my mum!’

Phoebe didn’t quite know what to say, the smile she had been wearing froze on her face, she touched her hair again and remembered Katrina’s face when she had put her hair up on her head,
you look like Maeve
, she’d said; she had been shocked.

‘Are you finished transforming poor Phoebe yet?’ Theo walked into the room and stopped. He stared at Phoebe, mouth slightly open, his eyes wide with surprise.

‘Doesn’t she look like Mummy?’ Honey said. ‘Doesn’t she look like Mummy when she had her hair down in the mornings?’

Theo didn’t speak, he just continued to stare.

‘I’m sorry.’ Phoebe stood up. ‘Maybe it’s time for me to leave’

Theo shook his head slightly as though coming out of a trance.

‘It’s all right, it’s just you do look remarkably like Maeve. I hadn’t seen the likeness before; I’m just a bit taken aback. For a moment I thought you were her.’ He turned on the light switch. ‘The room was very gloomy; I think the evening light was playing tricks.’

Honey wrapped her arms around Phoebe’s waist.

‘I wish you were her,’ she mumbled into the silky fabric of the dress.

Theo took her gently by the arm. ‘Come on, sweetheart, time for bed.ʼ

‘Will you come for tea again?’ Honey’s eyes were shiny with un-spilt tears.

Phoebe glanced at Theo, he nodded slightly and smiled. ‘We’d like that,’ he said quietly.

‘Then of course I will, and maybe next time I’ll help you bake the cake.’

Theo laughed. ‘Please do, I don’t think I can go through that experience again.’

‘We’ll have to remember to keep Poncho out of the kitchen!’ Phoebe bent and kissed Honey lightly on the cheek.

‘Wait here,’ said Theo. ‘I’ve got a present for you, when I get back.’ And he took his daughter’s hand in his and left Phoebe alone in the room.

She walked over to the window and looked out, wondering what Theo had to give her. The darkness outside took her by surprise; she could see her reflection in the window, without her mane of curls she hardly recognised herself at all. She tilted her head; did she really look so like Theo’s dead wife? Phoebe shivered and tried to ruffle up her hair; it fell back, straight around her shoulders like a thick auburn curtain.

Phoebe set off to find a bathroom. Beneath the magnificent staircase she found a small cloakroom, fitted with an old-fashioned, high-cistern toilet and a white china sink. Turning on the brass taps she filled the sink with water, submerged her head and then dried it with a hand-towel, scrunching up her hair as she did so, trying to bring her curls back to life.

Back in the living room, Phoebe found Theo lighting a fire. She watched him from the doorway for a little while; his broad back hunched over the grate as he coaxed driftwood and old newspaper into flames. Phoebe walked up to the mantelpiece and touched one of the marble monkeys climbing up the side.

‘I used to love those monkeys as a child,’ Theo said as he straightened up to face her. ‘Oliver and I would spend hours giving them names and making up stories about them. We once got into terrible trouble for trying to hack one off with a hammer. We had a notion they might come alive. Look, you can still see the marks we made in the marble.’ Theo pointed at two large chips around a monkey’s sailor hat.

‘What vandals you were!’ Phoebe laughed. ‘You and your brother must have been a real handful.’

‘It was Oliver, he continually lead me astray!’

Phoebe made a face of disbelief.

‘Your curls are back,’ said Theo.

Phoebe ran her fingers through her damp hair. ‘It didn’t feel right without them.’

‘I hope I didn’t upset you by saying that you looked like Maeve.’

‘No, it’s all right; I just hope it didn’t upset Honey. She must miss her mother very much.’

Theo bent down again and prodded the fire with a poker, the driftwood crackled and the comforting smell of peat smoke drifted into the room.

‘It doesn’t seem to get much easier for either of us.’ Theo stood up and looked at Phoebe. ‘But you must know all about it. Fibber told me that you lost your husband last year.’ Phoebe flinched inside – 
husband
, she was getting to hate that word, she wished she’d been honest about her relationship with David from the beginning. ‘Is that why you came to Carraigmore?’ Theo continued, ‘to get away?’

‘That was one of the reasons,’ said Phoebe. ‘I just couldn’t live in a place that held so many memories.’

Theo looked around him, ‘That’s how I feel about staying here. It’s not just about the cost of running this place, it’s all the ghosts that seem to constantly jump out at me, making me remember Maeve when all I want to do is forget her and feel better.’

‘But you’ll never forget her. She was your wife, you had a child together, that was more than I had with David.’ Phoebe looked down at the dancing flames and wondered just how much she had had with David, it wasn’t as if they’d ever made a home or had a baby. She’d always imagined that one day they’d have shared those things but lately she’d begun to wonder if that really would have happened.

‘Are you all right?’ Theo raised his arm as if to touch her shoulder but stopped. ‘I can understand if you don’t want to talk about this, it must still be very raw for you.’

‘I’m all right. I think I’m learning to live with the grief, accepting it as a part of who I am now.’

‘Maybe that’s what I need to do, accept the pain and not run away from it.’

‘Yes,’ Phoebe said quietly. ‘And maybe Honey needs to know it’s all right to feel upset, that it’s all right to feel pain and that the other people and places that she loves will still be there for her.’

‘I think you’re trying to tell me that moving from here would be a bad thing for her.’

Phoebe shrugged. ‘That’s just my opinion.’

Theo sighed. ‘Even if you’re right there’s still the problem of lack of money; this place deserves more care than I can afford to give it. The Castle is a beautiful house but it’s much too big for one lonely potter and his sad little girl.’

‘There must be something you can do,’ said Phoebe.

‘I’m afraid there isn’t. I have developers coming next week with plans to make it into a hotel – one of those luxury ones the recession doesn’t seem to touch; they have a chain of them across the country. I can’t turn down the kind of money they’re talking about; I have to think of Honey’s future as well as my own.’

Phoebe felt her heart contract; she didn’t want the Castle to become a hotel. It had been a home for so long: her grandmother’s home, Theo’s home, Honey’s home, it wasn’t right that it should become a part of a soulless chain catering for a stream of wealthy tourists.

‘Enough of this unhappy talk,’ said Theo suddenly. ‘I’ve still got to give you your present.’

‘What is it?’

Without speaking Theo disappeared through the door leading into the hallway, within seconds he was back, with something small and round cradled between his large hands. As he reached Phoebe he held it out to her.

‘Here. I want you to have this.’

Phoebe gasped, ‘A moon jar!’

‘I took it out of the kiln last night.’

Phoebe gazed at it as she took it from him; the pot was perfectly spherical, smaller than the previous ones she’d seen, its pale blue glaze as luminous as the moon she could see through the window.

‘I don’t deserve this.’

‘You were very kind to come today and spend so much time with us.’

‘I’ve enjoyed it; you don’t need to thank me.’

Theo looked down at the fire. ‘I also want to apologise for how rude I’ve been at times; you didn’t deserve it. This last two years I’ve been like an ogre taking out my bad moods on anyone who happens to cross my path. I’m sorry for the times when that’s been you.’ He turned his head to face her and smiled. ‘You’re also very kind to let me keep working in the boathouse and I know how good you’ve been to Honey with her school work. I’ve been stubborn, refusing to see that you were right; she does have problems. I realise that now, and I’d be grateful for any help you can give her.’

Phoebe smiled. ‘Thank you for the apology, and my present. I’ll treasure it. And of course I’ll help Honey. I’m very fond of her.’

‘She’s very fond of you,’ Theo paused, then started to say something else but stopped. Instead he took the pot out of her hands and placed it on the mantelpiece. He turned back to face her. Neither of them spoke. Phoebe noticed how the fire cast moving shadows across his face, his eyes looked almost incandescent in the half light. She felt suddenly compelled to touch his cheek; her fingers moved to trace the outline of his mouth, he caught her hand in his and very gently kissed her palm. Phoebe felt her heart beating, a flutter of awakening somewhere deep inside; as he took a step towards her Phoebe instinctively raised her face to his, her lips already anticipating his kiss.

The sound of the phone was like an alarm clock shattering a dream. Theo dropped Phoebe’s hand and took a step back.

‘I’ll leave it,’ he said but they both stood motionless listening to the ringing until it stopped. It started to ring again immediately.

‘You’d better get it,’ Phoebe said. The phone was on a table on the other side of the room. As Theo walked across the carpet he might as well have been walking a thousand miles away from Phoebe. She could already see the door closing, the Theo who had been about to kiss her disappearing inside.

He had his back turned as he picked up the phone, she couldn’t hear what he was saying, he mostly seemed to be listening, but she had a feeling it was not good news.

Theo said goodbye and turned to Phoebe, the phone still in his hand.

‘That was Katrina, its Della Flannigan. She’s had a heart attack and isn’t expected to survive the night.’ 

Chapter Twenty-four

Against all expectations Della Flannigan did last the night – and the next one and then the next one after that – but for three full days she hovered between life and death, her face ashen against the white sheets of the intensive care ward.

Fibber was a constant presence at his mother’s side, holding her hand, pressing her rosary beads into her fingers, begging her not to leave him, until on the fourth night Della Flannigan opened her eyes and told him not to be such a great eejit and to leave her in peace.

Because of Mrs Flannigan’s illness it was deemed inappropriate to open the pub. Katrina travelled back and forth to Tralee Hospital several times a day, fretting about Fibber – taking him her homemade biscuits, trying to coax him to eat, encouraging him to change his clothes and go out for short walks around the hospital grounds.

With time on her hands, Phoebe wandered along the beach and over the moors, sketching shells and flowers, watching the puffins flying in and out of their burrows, and thinking about Theo.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ he’d said, but now five days had passed and she hadn’t seen him. She had been up to the Castle twice, but both times it had been deserted – no sign of Theo, Honey, or the dog. She knew that they had been to visit Mrs Flannigan – Katrina had told her that, she said that Honey had been terribly upset; the hospital brought back too many memories of the time her mother spent there.

‘Is hard,’ Katrina said. ‘What is the thing that is best? For Honey to see her granny or keep her away and she never get to say goodbye if it is the worst that happens?’

Rory came to see Phoebe on the Friday evening after he had finished at school. They scrambled up onto the cliff path and walked in the opposite direction this time. Phoebe was distracted by the hope that Theo might heave into view at any time.

They turned a corner and there was the Castle ahead of them; in the late afternoon sun it looked sedately still. The Virginia creeper sheathed the towers in brilliant green and made it look like the embodiment of a stately home.
The Americans will love it
, Phoebe thought. Looking down she could see where they’d probably want to build the golf course, and the outbuildings would be perfect for some sort of luxury spa.

The day before she’d seen a soft-top Jaguar with a Dublin number plate parked outside the general store. With sinking heart she decided that it must be the developer’s car; but then an elderly couple had appeared, dressed in matching slacks and fleeces. They got in the car and drove slowly up the high street to the strains of Lonnie Donegan in a most un-developer-like fashion, and Phoebe had been relieved.

‘Let’s just hope that Mrs Flannigan recovers,’ Phoebe realised she hadn’t been listening to Rory for ages; she tried hard to concentrate on his words. ‘The pub wouldn’t be the same without her. She’s the queen of the fierce glare and pungent put-downs but we’re all very fond of her.’

‘How’s Honey?’ Phoebe asked.

Rory shook his head, ‘She hasn’t been in school this week. Theo phoned to say she’s too upset.’

Phoebe sighed. ‘Poor Honey.’

‘If Mrs Flannigan dies and Theo sells the Castle he’ll have Honey over in America with his mother in no time.’

Phoebe’s heart lurched at Rory’s words. She knew that Theo would go back to Dublin then, or even to America himself, and suddenly she realised that couldn’t bear to think of that.

‘You don’t seem yourself.’ Rory had stopped and was studying her face. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Oh, I’m fine.’ Phoebe forced a smile. ‘Grand – as you’d say round here!’ She set off again along the path, Rory hurrying to catch her up.

‘Did you ever find those diaries that you’d lost?’ he asked.

‘No, they seem to have completely disappeared.’ Phoebe had begun to think she might have imagined the extra two exercise books in the pile.

Phoebe and Rory parted at the crossroads and Phoebe walked back to the boathouse across the fields instead of through the village. She wasn’t in the mood for the chats she’d be bound to have to have with every other person that walked by.

Climbing over a stile she suddenly had an urge to run as fast as she could. Buttercups and daisies brushed against her bare legs and it wasn’t until she came across the ruins of an ancient church that she stopped, leaning breathless against a crumbling wall. A movement startled her; a hare darted out from behind a gravestone, golden in the sunlight, white tail flashing in the long grass. Phoebe watched it until it vanished into the bushes and then she set off again, her footsteps following the track the hare had made.

Her route skirted the Castle’s land and she noticed that the rhododendron bushes had burst into a haze of pink and purple flowers; from a distance they looked unreal – tissue paper blooms glued onto the waxy leaves. Phoebe climbed over a low wall to see the flowers better and in seconds she was lost inside the Castle grounds. Disconcerted by the thickness of the undergrowth and the height of once carefully planted specimen trees she wandered on, sometimes fighting her way through brambles or clumps of willow, occasionally stumbling on a path that she would follow for a while before it disappeared into the bushes.

Large patches of gunnera grew around a muddy pond; it looked like a relic of a prehistoric time. Further on she came across a brick-lined cavern built into a bank of grass. She peered into the cavern’s musty depths. Something from a television history programme came into her mind. It looked like the old ice-houses that the Victorians had built in order to join in the craze for ice creams and sorbets before freezers were available. She thought of Anna’s diaries and suddenly felt cold. Could this have been the ice house where her great-grandfather had taken his own life? She backed away, a twig snapped underneath her foot, and the sound ricocheted around her in the silent air. A flock of crows flew up from a nearby tree, screeching as they flapped into the sky. Phoebe turned and started to run, blindly following an overgrown path. She passed a row of dilapidated greenhouses and was relieved to see the low slate roofs of barns and outhouses up ahead and the Castle’s crenellated battlements silhouetted behind them in the bright sunshine.

Hot and out of breath she burst from the undergrowth into the open space of the courtyard to find half a dozen men in ties and rolled up shirtsleeves measuring the buildings and taking pictures. Theo stood slightly apart from them, hands in his jacket pockets, his expression grim. Phoebe took a few steps back and pressed herself the wall, hoping she hadn’t been seen. Edging sideways she managed to get round to the back of the barn again and push her way through brambles until she found the driveway down to the lane.

Honey sat on the slipway playing with a lump of clay. As Phoebe approached she could see that the little girl was completely absorbed in making a dragon; it was lying down, head resting on scaly front legs, expression dejected, bulging eyes half closed.

‘He looks sad,’ Phoebe crouched down beside Honey.

‘He is sad,’ said Honey rolling clay between her hands to make a long, limp tail. She didn’t look up. Phoebe sat down beside her.

‘And what about you, Honey? How are you?’

There was a pause, then, ‘I feel like the dragon.’ Phoebe put her arm around Honey’s shoulder. ‘Daddy is selling the Castle to those horrible men in stripy shirts, Grandma is going to die, and I really don’t want to go and live with my Granny Stick in America.’

‘Granny Stick?’

‘That’s what I call her in my head; she’s skinny and wizened and hard like an old stick washed up on the beach. But don’t tell Daddy I call her that will you?’

‘No, of course I won’t, but you know it sounds as though your Grandma Della is getting a bit better.’

Phoebe took a piece of clay from the bag Honey had at her side. She started to mould a head and then a body, legs, tail, and finally little wings.

‘You’ve made a dragon too,’ Honey smiled up at her.

‘Yes, but this one is a happy dragon, who’s come to cheer up your sad one,’ she made her model fly though the air and land beside Honey’s. Phoebe put on a silly voice, ‘Can you do the dragon rumba?’ Honey laughed as Phoebe moved her dragon to a made-up tune; its wing fell off and Honey laughed harder.

‘Looks like you two are having fun,’ a shadow fell across them and Phoebe looked up into Theo’s face.

‘I’ve never seen a dragon dance before,’ he said bending down to pick up the broken wing. He gently took the dragon out of Phoebe’s hand and pressed it back together again.

‘Have the men gone?’ Honey asked, moving her own dragon away from Poncho’s inquisitive nose.

‘Yes, thank God, they’ve left at last. Back to Dublin in their oversized 4x4s; no doubt back to their oversized dinners, cooked by their undersized wives.’

‘Did you sell it too them?’ Honey’s tone was deliberately indifferent, but Phoebe could tell she was putting on a brave façade.

Theo squatted down beside her. ‘No,’ he sighed. ‘No, I didn’t sell the Castle to them – not today.’

Honey put her arms around his neck and nuzzled into him.

‘Good,’ she mumbled. Theo disentangled himself from her grip and held her where he could look into her huge blue eyes with clarity.

‘They made me an offer, but I haven’t accepted yet. But Honey, that doesn’t mean we not going to sell the Castle, it just means I’m thinking about their offer for a few days and then I might …’

Honey shrugged free of Theo’s grip. ‘Whatever!’ she interrupted, as indifferently as a stroppy teenager.

Theo let her go and Honey scrambled to her feet. ‘Katrina says I can stay the night with her and Fibber at the pub. They’ve got all my overnight stuff there, so can I go?’

‘I had thought we could go to Killarney for a McDonalds.’

Honey shook her head. ‘Katrina makes homemade burgers and potato wedgies – much more healthy than McDonalds,’ she turned and set off up the lane as fast as her grubby green baseball boots would let her.

‘Do you want me to take you up there?’ Theo called after her.

‘No,’ she shouted, and broke into a sprint, disappearing around the corner in seconds.

Theo sat down next to Phoebe, ‘
Whatever
,’ he said wearily. ‘Can you believe that, she’s eight years old and she says “Whatever”.’

‘She’s upset,’ said Phoebe.

Theo ran his hand through his hair and looked out at the sea. ‘I have no idea what to do for the best, no idea what to do for my own daughter.’ He turned to Phoebe with a face that suddenly looked exhausted. ‘Do you think I should go after her?’

‘No, let her go. Katrina and Fibber will cheer her up. She probably needs a break; it must have been an emotional few days for you both.’

‘Going to that hospital certainly felt like a big mistake – too many bad memories stalking the corridors. And if it was hard for me goodness knows how Honey felt.’ He picked up a ball of clay and threw it, hard, across the beach. Poncho, delighted with the possibility of a game, jumped down onto the sand after it. ‘What to do?’ Theo drew his hand slowly down his face. Phoebe longed to comfort him just as she’d longed to comfort Honey when she’d found her perched on the black rock all those weeks before.

‘Is it a good offer?’ she asked.

He gave a brief laugh. ‘Too bloody good, unfortunately.’

‘I’m sure you’ll know what the right thing is to do in the end.’ She tried to compose her face into an expression of impassive concern, hoping he couldn’t see that inside every inch of her longed to scream
Don’t do it, don’t sell the Castle; don’t go away, don’t leave me
.

‘Come on,’ Theo stood up. ‘I need a distraction. What about decorating that pot of yours?’ He held out his hand and pulled her up, Poncho, realising that the game of fetch had not materialised, jumped back onto the slipway and followed them into the boathouse.

Initially Phoebe’s mind had been a blank; she couldn’t think what she wanted to paint. The soft, unfired surface seemed too pure and perfect to sully with decoration. Three carefully mixed up jars of glaze were lined up beside her, their raw colour more shades of grey than cobalt blue. Theo had given her a Japanese calligraphy brush to work with; its top was as thick as Phoebe’s wrist, its end as pointed as a needle.

‘It was Anna’s brush,’ Theo said. ‘It’s made of real white wolf hair.’

Phoebe tried to imagine her grandmother’s long fingers gripping the bamboo handle, silver bracelets clinking together as she executed her brilliant brushstrokes.

‘It’s the kind of brush that Buddhist monks use to practice calligraphy,’ said Theo. ‘They let the letters and patterns flow out from their souls to leave a statement on the surface about themselves at that particular moment.’

‘How very Zen,’ said Phoebe, and gave the pot a spin on the decorating wheel.

‘Why don’t you get your sketchbook, there might be some inspiration for you in there.’

Phoebe turned around to face him, ‘How do you know I have a sketchbook?’

Theo grinned and bent down to stroke his dog’s sleek head, ‘Poncho and I see all sorts on our walks.’ He looked at Phoebe. ‘We spotted you on top of the black rock only yesterday, thoroughly absorbed in drawing something.’

‘Shells,’ she said. ‘I was drawing a collection of shells left behind after high tide.’

‘Can I see?’

Phoebe hesitated, then slipped down from the high stool to fetch the sketchbook from the flat.

Theo looked at the small black book for a long time. Phoebe grew increasingly self-conscious as she watched him studying each page intensely. Eventually he reached the end.

He looked up. ‘What were you doing teaching in a primary school when you could have been making a name for yourself as an illustrator?’

Phoebe shrugged, ‘I got waylaid.’

‘By what?’

‘By life,’

Theo raised his eyebrows, ‘Tell me more.’

Phoebe laughed. ‘Well, first I got waylaid by a desire to get away from my bossy big sister, and then by a desire to travel the world, and in the end I suppose I got waylaid by David.’

He didn’t comment on her answer but passed the sketchbook back. ‘Would it be a help if I left you to it? I’ll come back in an hour – give you some space to be creative on your own.’